Hard to Come By

by Laura Kaye

  The waiter came and they ordered coffee and dessert.

  “Would you excuse me for a moment?” she asked as she rose from her chair.

  “Of course. But you better get back before that chocolate cake or I won’t be held accountable for my actions.” He winked.

  She scooted around the table, rested a hand on his arm, and leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Never get between a woman and her chocolate, Derek.”

  He grinned and twisted in his seat to watch her walk away. Damn, if that dress didn’t tease him with hints of her sweet curves. He sighed and pulled out his cell phone, which he’d put on silent before Emilie had walked out of her office. Three messages.

  The first was from Beckett about fifteen minutes ago and gave him the all-clear to let Emilie return home whenever he was ready, then they’d rendezvous. The second one was from Charlie and reported an address on one of Garza’s phone numbers, which was freaking fantastic news. And the third, also from Charlie, read, Thought this might be important and included a link. Marz clicked through to a news story.

  “Aw, hell,” he said to himself as his scalp prickled. Two execution-style murders in Baltimore City today, both of known members of the Church Gang. The media was speculating about a connection to the bombing of Confessions, one of the gang’s known hangouts, and a shootout and car chase that had occurred that same night. His team had been involved in both of those ops, so Marz knew those two were connected. Question was, what were these executions about? And did they represent an opportunity or a threat to his guys and their mission? “No way that’s not important,” he murmured.

  “Everything okay?” Emilie slipped back into her chair.

  Marz looked up and smiled. Damn, she’s gorgeous. She’d applied something glossy to her lips, and they were now a deep, shiny red that reminded him of a candy apple. Bet she’d taste just as sweet. “Yeah, just some bad stuff from the nightly news.”

  “Is there any other kind?” Emilie asked. “I almost hate to read the news anymore.” She gestured toward his phone, which he slipped back into his pocket. “What happened?”

  “Oh, uh, some murders in downtown Baltimore.”

  Just then, the waiter delivered their coffee and desserts—the chocolate cake for her, and key lime pie for him.

  “Look at that,” Marz said, “your chocolate cake is safe after all.”

  Emilie reached across the table and snatched his fork, then she sliced it into her dessert. “Never let it be said I’m not a giving person,” she said, returning the fork to him with a big scoop of cake.

  Marz shook his head and grinned. “Those words will never slip past my lips.” He enjoyed the taste of her dessert, which was rich and creamy and delicious. He held his plate out to her. “Try mine?”

  “Nope. I appreciate it, but I’m all about this cake.” She scooped up a piece and ate it. “Mmm,” she moaned, her eyelids fluttering shut. Her face was a mask of pleasure, making Derek wonder what else might cause her to convey those sounds and that expression.

  He shifted in his seat, heat spearing through him. “So, uh, I take it you like chocolate.”

  Her eyes flipped open. “‘Like’ would be an understatement. Did you ever see the movie Forrest Gump? There’s that scene where the guy is reciting, like, a hundred things you can make out of shrimp?” Marz nodded. “Well, that’s me, except switch out the shrimp for chocolate. If it’s chocolate, I will eat it or make it.”

  “Is that so?” he asked, loving learning all these little facets of her personality.

  “Mmhmm,” she said around another bite. “Ever had enchiladas with chocolate sauce?” Marz wrinkled his nose, and Emilie laughed. “It’s called mole and you’d never know it has chocolate in it, but the Mexican chocolate gives it this deep and delicious flavor that is to die for.” She licked chocolate icing off her fork, and Marz tried like hell not to stare. But, damn.

  “If you say it’s good, I would definitely try it,” he said.

  She tilted her head. “So, no one you know was hurt today, were they? In that news story, I mean.”

  “Thankfully, no,” he said, his gut clenching at the thought. His team had experienced enough loss. He refused to lose even one more of the guys. Not if he could help it. Shoving the thoughts away, he took a bite of his pie and focused on enjoying the sweet-and-sour key lime. Fantastic graham cracker crust, too.

  “There’s a lot I love about Baltimore, but it’s also such a troubled city,” Emilie said. “I do pro bono counseling at a clinic up there once a week, and there’s just some rough stuff.”

  Why wasn’t he surprised to learn that about her? But how did pro bono counseling at an inner-city clinic square with being involved with drugs and guns? “Oh, yeah? That’s really great of you, Emilie. Is it safe?” he asked.

  “Yeah. I mean, it’s certainly a change of pace from working with college students. And it’s definitely different walking into a facility that keeps an armed guard on staff in the waiting room, but they’re good people without sufficient access to care of all kinds. I’d do more if I could.”

  Their meal ended and Marz took care of the check over Emilie’s protests, and then they went out to the pier to wait for the taxi. Darkness had brought a chill to the air, and Emilie hugged herself and rubbed her arms.

  Marz found himself torn in two. On the one hand, he wanted to pull her in against his chest and warm her with his hands and heat. On the other, he hated to initiate anything physical with her, given the circumstances that had brought them together. He already felt like a big enough asshole, especially since he genuinely liked Emilie. She might’ve been a mission asset—no, she was a mission asset—but she was also someone Marz enjoyed immensely and at any other time would’ve wanted to pursue.

  Maybe he could, down the road, assuming there was a good explanation for her stash and she could forgive the way and reason they’d met. But he couldn’t get involved with anyone with so much shit on his plate, even if she didn’t come with a dangerous brother who might or might not be gunning for them. Marz and the guys had to clear their names and settle the score with Church. And Marz also had to find a way to clear the air with Beckett, even if it meant tying him to a chair until the stubborn ass talked. Damn it all to hell.

  “Do you want to wait inside?” he asked.

  She smiled, and it almost looked like her teeth were chattering. “No, I’m fine. It’ll be here soon.”

  As if her words conjured the water taxi, the boat’s navigation lights came into view. Minutes later, it drew up along the pier and they went aboard.

  The chill was worse when they got under way. Marz couldn’t resist the urge to make her more comfortable. “Here,” he said, projecting over the wind and the motor, “lean against me. I’ll keep you warm.”

  Emilie curled into him, tucking her face against his neck and folding her hands against his chest.

  And damn if that didn’t feel good. There was just something about sheltering a woman’s body with your own that Marz really dug. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in tighter.

  This trip was longer than their earlier one as it stopped at several other piers. Emilie’s arms below the short dress-sleeves were freezing. He rubbed her skin with his hands and just barely held back from pulling her into his lap so he could hold her even closer.

  “You okay?” he asked with his lips against her ear.

  Emilie tilted her head back. “Yes, thanks to you,” she said, a small smile playing around her lips. She was so close . . .

  Heat sparked in the air between them until Marz could no longer feel the breeze. All he knew was the thunder of his heart, the rush of his blood, and the fucking urgent desire to taste her, kiss her, claim her.

  The little voice in the back of his head reciting the long list of reasons why any of that would be a bad freaking idea? He kicked that mother into a dark, distant corner.

  Marz felt her answering desire in the way her pulse ticked up under his hands and against his chest,
and saw it in the way her gaze flickered to his lips and away again. She wanted him, too.

  Sonofabitch. He leaned down, bringing their lips closer. Her breath caught and her fingers curled into his shirt between two of the buttons as if she was pulling him down, too. Everything else died away—the boat, the wind, the other people. Until it was just them and the closeness of his mouth to hers.

  “Derek,” she whispered.

  It was the pleading sound of his name on her lips that did it.

  Whatever had held him back in the seconds before she’d spoken disappeared in that instant. His lips brushed hers. Just a soft dragging of skin on skin that was somehow sexier for how tentative and incomplete it was, especially when she gasped and pressed herself closer, like she was hungry for it.

  Jesus. Marz certainly was.

  He captured her top lip between his and tugged, just the littlest bit. Continuing to tease her—and himself—he dragged his lips over her cheek, her eye, her nose, before he came back to her lips again.

  And then he stopped teasing. Marz kissed her, softly but thoroughly, not waiting long at all before he gave in to the urge to taste and swept his tongue into her mouth. She tasted of chocolate and woman and a sweetness he couldn’t get enough of. He’d already been hard before their lips ever met, but now he was like steel. Emilie was right there with him, surrendering to the kiss but giving back everything he gave her.

  Damn, it was a good thing they were in public, because Marz didn’t want to stop.

  As if on cue, they pulled up to their mooring at City Dock, and the boat bumped against the pilings. They broke apart, breathing hard and looking at one another as if neither quite knew what had just happened, or what would happen next.

  Marz guided her off the boat and pulled her in against his side with an arm around her shoulders. They didn’t talk, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The tension roiling between them was purely sexual in nature, and Marz didn’t know where the hell to go with that. Not with the falsehoods between them, not when he wasn’t sure where she stood or what she was involved in, not when she didn’t know their meeting hadn’t been an accident.

  She shivered and tucked herself closer to him. Marz needed to fix that problem now. He pulled her into the first souvenir shop they came to. “What’s your favorite color?”

  “What?” she asked with a suspicious smile. “Why?”

  “Just tell me,” he said.

  “Okay, it’s turquoise. Now can I know why?” she asked, laughing.

  If he told her his plan, she would protest. So Marz kept quiet as he scanned the racks and zeroed in on a target—a turquoise blue hoodie that spelled out Annapolis in both letters and nautical flags. Perfect. He grabbed one that looked about the right size. “Come on,” he said, grasping her hand in his.

  “What are you doing?” she said, following him.

  “You’ll see,” he said. “Oh, wait.” He stopped over a table of T-shirts. If that wasn’t freaking Jeremy . . . “I have a friend who collects dirty and funny T-shirts. Whatd’ya think?” He held one up to her that had a picture of a black lab with a crab in its mouth.

  She smiled and read aloud: “Our dog has crabs. Dirty Dog Crab Shack. Cold beer and hot legs. Annapolis, 1649.”

  “Very cute,” she said, “but who’s the other one for?”

  He threw Jer’s T-shirt over his arm, grabbed her hand again, and pulled her in so he could whisper into her ear. “You, babe.” Then he kissed her cheek and led her to the register.

  “But . . . we’ll be back to the car in a few minutes,” she said as the teenager checked him out.

  “And by then you’ll be freezing. Besides, how can you deny me my God-given American right to spend money on souvenirs?” He handed the guy the money and accepted his change. Ripping the tag off her jacket, he held it open for her. “Madam,” he said with a bow.

  Looking like she still wanted to argue, she slipped it on, and the way she snuggled into it filled him with all kinds of satisfaction.

  “Thanks,” he said to the guy as he grabbed the bag with Jeremy’s shirt. They made their way back out to the street. “See, now you can enjoy the walk.”

  “Well, that might’ve been the sweetest thing anybody’s ever done for me,” she said, squeezing his hand.

  Marz narrowed his gaze and hoped that wasn’t true, because that had been some basic decency right there. What kind of guys was she seeing, anyway? His gut clenched, both because his kneejerk reaction to the thought had been to dislike the idea of her seeing anyone else. Strongly. Followed closely by the interjection of cold-hard reality that it wasn’t any of his business. It couldn’t be any of his business.

  They returned to her car far too quickly for Marz’s taste, because he wasn’t sure where this left them. This should be good-bye, but a part of Marz sure as shit didn’t want it to be.

  Emilie leaned back against the driver’s door and looked up at him. The turquoise really was pretty on her. “I can’t thank you enough for tonight. It was a wonderful, unexpected surprise and I really enjoyed myself.”

  Marz stepped closer until he was just shy of touching her. He leaned a hand against the top of the car. “Me too.” He swallowed hard and looked down, trying to restrain himself from taking anymore. But that was really freaking hard when the invitation was so plain in her eyes. He looked back up again and met her waiting gaze. “When do you do your pro bono work this week?” he asked against his better judgment.

  “Thursday,” she said.

  He leaned his other hand against the car and boxed her in. The tension and desire were so thick between them, he could’ve cut it with a knife. “Thursday,” he said. “Maybe we could”—What the hell are you doing?—“get together after you’re done.”

  She smiled and licked her lips. “I’d like that.” Tentatively, she brought her hand up to his chest. He nearly groaned as her heat seeped through the cotton.

  “Should we trade numbers?” he managed. In his mind’s eye, he saw Beckett’s gaze narrowing at him, silently asking him what the fuck he was doing.

  Emilie nodded, and they broke apart a little as they grabbed their cells and took turns reciting numbers. And then he leaned in to kiss her cheek. He meant to be good, he really did. But her scent and her softness and her warmth drew him in. Her arms came around him and his body trapped hers against the car.

  There was nothing teasing or tentative about this kiss. Marz kissed her like a starving man at a feast—devouring, claiming, commanding. She moaned into his mouth and drove her fingers into his hair. When she tilted her hips into his erection, he grabbed her ass in one hand and held her tighter to him.

  He had to stop this. Now. Before things went any further. Because, God forbid, if she invited him to leave with her, he was going to get in that fucking car.

  And wouldn’t that be a damned mess.

  He broke away from her lips and they were both breathing hard, chests heaving. Kissing her forehead, he whispered. “Be safe going home.” And then he forced himself to step away.

  Emilie stood there for a second like she couldn’t move, and then she finally said good-bye and got in. She gave a little wave before she backed out, and then Marz was staring at her taillights as they crossed the lot and turned out onto the street.

  Marz scrubbed his hands over his face and hair. “Fuck,” he bit out. This thing with Emilie already was a mess. Fuckfuckityfuck.

  He retrieved his cell and texted Beckett. What’s the extraction plan?

  Just waiting for your ass to text me, dickhead, came Beckett’s reply.

  On top of everything else tonight, Marz couldn’t help but laugh.

  Aw, you love me so hard, he texted back.

  No response. Marz could almost hear Beckett cussing him out.

  My ass and dickhead are in the college parking lot, waiting just for you. Marz sniggered.

  Rot in hell, was the sum total of his response.

  Chuckling, Marz walked out to the street and found a spot in the shadow
s to wait. Leave it to fucking Beckett Murda to kill his erection and make him laugh in one fell swoop.

  Now the question was how much did he share about what’d happened with Emilie? Or the fact that he’d made plans to see her again?

  Chapter 7

  Gimme the rundown,” Marz said once he and Beckett were on the highway back to Baltimore.

  Beckett’s icy blue eyes flashed toward him, then away again. “Thirty bricks of heroin. Eighteen semiautomatics. And twenty grand in cash. We replaced it all with fake stand-ins to make it look undisturbed.”

  “Jesus,” Marz bit out as he scrubbed his hands over his face. Once again, that did not square with the woman he’d spent a big chunk of the day and night with. “What does it mean?” he asked. “For argument’s sake, let’s say Manny Garza stashed it there for safekeeping. That amount of product is the kind of thing a big-time distributor would have.”

  “Like Church,” Beckett said.

  “Exactly. So is Garza freelancing or hiding assets until the shit stops hitting the fan in Churchland?” Marz didn’t too closely examine his motivation for wanting Manny to have been the Garza sibling responsible for the stash. Not that he really had to. Damn it all to hell.

  “Million-dollar question,” Beckett said.

  Marz crossed his arms. “Yeah.”

  Beckett stared straight out the windshield. “Well, as soon as we get back and briefed, the team’s raiding Garza’s address tonight. So maybe we’ll be able to just ask him.”

  “Fuckin’ A,” Marz said, although the little bit of conflict slinking through his brain revealed that he’d gone and gotten all involved. And wasn’t that a smack in the ass. Even if Garza was a dangerous, corrupt, drug-dealing mercenary, he was still Emilie’s big brother. The way she talked about the importance and meaning of her family, Marz had no doubt that taking Manny down would tear Emilie up. And he hated that for her.

  “How ’bout you? Learn anything?” Beckett asked after a while.

  Oh, that could be answered so many different ways. Marz sighed. “I thought I’d learned that Emilie Garza was squeaky clean. Not a thing about her read suspicious all day. I didn’t get access to her cell, but I did learn she’s having a big family get-together at her house on Saturday,” Marz said, his thoughts churning.